


Don't Go Where I Can't Follow

by cruciomysoul



Category: Batman (Comics), DC Animated Universe, DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: AU, Batfamily Feels, F/M, Ghost Hunters, Ghosts, M/M, Supernatural AU - Freeform, Supernatural Elements, batfam, eventual jaytim - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-16
Updated: 2014-11-03
Packaged: 2018-02-04 21:22:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1793614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cruciomysoul/pseuds/cruciomysoul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>{Supernatural AU}</b> - Jason hasn’t heard from Bruce in over 3 days. Which is all well and good, he’s been away for longer- except this time he isn’t picking up his phone, or answering Jason’s calls- hasn’t even left a trail for Jason to follow. It’s as if he’s simply vanished, and the only thing Jason has to find him with is a little black book filled with the material of nightmares. Oh, and a not-so-willing little brother and a complete dick of an older one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is just the prequel guys the real thing is yet to come, probably around mid-july (and the title may change. it's original title was (☞ﾟ∀ﾟ)☞, but for some reason that didn't seem to fit with a supernatural theme)

"Tell me, son," Bruce, barely 23 years old and with a face as fresh as a newly bathed kid, knelt before the blue eyed, black haired boy, putting a gentle hand on the shoulder. He extended his other hand, using it to lift the boy's chin so he could look him in the eye. "Are you afraid of monsters?"

"K-kek." The boy, wide eyed and quivering, muttered. Bruce's gaze lingered on the boy for a moment, before he looked around the surroundings.

Smoke billowed up all around them, the charred ground wafting up smoke left right and centre. Of course there would be nothing left. Nothing but a tear soaked boy in a half torn acrobatics leotard.

Far in the distance, he could just make out the silhouette of another tri-coloured tent blazing away, the remnants of the cloth drifting off in the breeze.

But this was important.

"Can you speak English?" There was a hesitant nod, followed by a barely audible 'small', which Bruce assumed meant that he knew little. Well, he could understand him, at least, even if he didn't know how to answer. "Good, that's good." Bruce murmured, "What's your name, boy?"

The boy shifted, uneasy, confused if not anything else. He glanced around, but there was no one, no one but the man kneeling before him and the still glowing embers of his home.

"D-Richard," The boy whispered, and Bruce finally let go of his chin, smiling a small, somewhat strained smile.

"Do you prefer Dick?" Dick nodded, keeping his eyes steady with Bruce's. "Okay, Dick, you're going to come with me now, all right?"

Dick's brow crumpled. All right? That wasn't all right. He didn't know Bruce. He didn't even know what was going on.

All he knew was that the circus was no more. Pop Haly was no more. Mama and Papa were no more.

"Where?" And Bruce smiled again, a bitter sadness in his eyes, his lips.

"Somewhere safe, I promise. Away from the monsters."

* * *

"I'm telling you, Bruce, this kid is going to be nothing but trouble. He can't come with us."

"Dick," Bruce muttered, rubbing his face with his hand.

Bruce, now 27, had small hints of stubble on his chin, and the action burned the palm of his hand.

"I mean it," Dick insisted, casting a dark glare towards where a young boy, roughly of twelve years with the same blue eyes as the other two, but striking ginger hair that did not fit with the black on grey back drop of the city's alleyway.

"I can't just leave him." Bruce reasoned, glancing from the boy to Dick, "And with the proper training, he won't be trouble. He could be good."

"He could get us both killed." Dick shot back, more venom than ever in his voice. Bruce had had enough.

"That is enough, Dick." Bruce reprimanded, harshly. Dick couldn't help but wince at the sharp inclination of the tone, "I took you in, when I could have just left you amongst the ashes, do you remember?" Of course he remembered. It was everything he could do to hold back a flinch. "Well?" Bruce prompted, and Dick knew what he was waiting for.

"Yes, sir." Dick mumbled, trying to avoid eye contact.

"Look at me." No such luck there, then. "I took you in," Bruce repeated, slowly, for emphasis, "And you were a risk. You were untrained and emotionally unstable. You could have easily gotten  _me_  killed, do you understand that?"

"Yes sir," Dick replied, again, voice on autopilot.

"And yet I still did it. Because I had hope. Because I knew you would be good. He can be good, too. I know it. And I am not going to leave him here, alone, when he can come and help.

"He will require work, he will require extensive training, he will require a friend who will watch his back when I'm watching his front. Do you hear what I'm saying?"

_You want me to be that friend,_  is what Dick thinks. "Yes, sir." Is what Dick says. Bruce nodded,

"Good. Now go and introduce yourself, whilst I call Clark and ask him to bring over some new tyres."

Dick walked over, stiff in posture, feeling Bruce's stern gaze on his back all the while.

"Hey," Dick said to the kid, slouching next to him against the side of the car. The kid didn't respond, only scuffed the pavement with his shoe. "Nice job on getting the wheels off this car, by the way." Bruce had told him to be nice. He would not disobey Bruce. Bruce had taken him in.

The kid just shrugged. Dick sighed.

"I'm Dick," He said at last, extending a hand to the boy. Suspiciously, the boy regarded it, before shrugging again and taking the hand in his own, giving it a short, firm shake.

"Jason."

"Well, Jason," Dick pulled his hand back, smiling, and it was weird how genuine the smile felt, and how  _right_  the words felt, "Welcome to the family."

* * *

At 29 years old, Bruce nearly had a full beard. Dick and Jason were taking bets on whether he'd let it grow, or end up shaving it off. They were behaving like true brothers, and it was the first time, in a long time, that Dick felt like Bruce had created a proper family out of these two orphans.

At 29 years old, an angry poltergeist took them all back to Gotham City. None of them wished to return there, but they couldn't allow the violent rampage to continue, couldn't let these 'pranks' escalate any further.

Dick thought he recognised the spirit, said it felt like one of the clowns he'd known in Haly's. Jason thought it reminded him of one of mother's ex's, but he couldn't be certain. Bruce didn't know the spirit, but he knew the boy it was holding hostage.

In the loosest sense of the word.

Little Timmy was the son of long-time friends Jack and Janet Drake.

Bruce didn't hesitate to save him, to patch up his wounds, repair any physical damage the poltergeist had done and present him to the nonplussed Drake's.

"What was that? Tim had been kidnapped, you say? By an angry ghost? Oh, Bruce, what a sense of humour you have! The boy's just imaginative. I told you, honey, these nannies are no good for him. He has to go to boarding school, learn how to be a proper gentleman. Brush off all this childish ghost nonsense and return to the real world. You're such a star, Bruce, playing along with him like you did! I hope he didn't cause trouble."

Bruce also didn't hesitate to take the kid in under his wing, into a life where Tim could protect himself from the ghosts, and be afraid of the monsters in the closet.

Jack and Janet didn't even realise he was gone until they were presented with adoption papers. They didn't even realise they had signed them until they had.

With the addition of Tim, Jason dyed his hair black. Claimed he didn't like being the middle brother, the odd one out, with blue eyes and ginger hair. Pointed out that they'd all look more like the family they were, if all four of them had black hair and blue eyes.

He was right, for the time being.

* * *

At 32, Dick left.

Dick didn't leave a note. He just up and walked out of their lives, leaving behind a tornado of worry and confusion and hot, white, blistering anger. Who leaves with no explanation? No warning?

But there were plenty of warnings. Arguments, that lasted for days. Uncomfortable silences that made the stereo in the Mustang a God send.

At first, Bruce started to drink. Jason and Tim noticed he was spiralling down, and so they intervened. They told him Dick was the first to be taken in, the eldest, so surely it was only natural that he was the first to leave, the first to hatch, the first to fly away.

Bruce recovered. Bruce never mentioned Dick again. Dick had become a ghost to them, a symbol of what once was, of what was lost. An echo in the never ending tunnel.

* * *

At 34, so did Tim.

Tim announced he was leaving over breakfast. Wanted to study at a university. Wanted to build a better life for him where he wasn't running across the country all the time and getting swiped at by angry ghouls when he wasn't.

Jason choked. Bruce wasn't interested.

"You go right ahead," Was all Bruce said in response, sipping at his cheap coffee, reading that morning's paper. 

Jason looked at Tim, searching for signs of a joke, a prank. He found none.

Tim looked at Jason, searching for signs of encouragement, acceptance. He found none.

Bruce looked at his paper, still reading, still sipping the bland coffee, searching for any signs of paranormal activity in the near vicinity. He found none.

Tim walked out the motel door, the old wooden hinges creaking as it was brutally slammed shut.

"'You go right ahead'? That's it? You're not going to stop him?" Bruce looked at Jason as if he was the dumbest person in the world. And in that moment, he felt like it.

"Why should I, Jason? I'm not his father."

_No, you're not, but you took him in. You took all of us in._  Jason gulped, "I know, sir." Bruce levelled a gaze at Jason,

"That you do, son. Now come on, eat up; we've got a long drive ahead of us."

* * *

Every day for a month, Jason rang Tim.

Every day for a month, Tim let it ring out.

Until the 32nd call, and the operator announced the phone was no longer in use.

Until the 32nd incessant shrill, and Tim smashed the device against the wall.

He was done; he had left that world behind.

Whilst he was caught in the middle, the deer in the headlights middle child, the one that had fit in but shouldn't, the one least expected to stay.

And he was lonely. He was oh, so lonely, and nobody knew it but he.


	2. Pilot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And basically that was the beginning of the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hurrrr there's a reason i don't do action writing forgive me :3  
> /also its nanowrimo so expect more soon!!! (hopefully)

When the first clang downstairs sounded, Tim would be lying if he said he awoke immediately and checked it out. He was woken by it, yes, but he carried on lying in the bed, burrowing down slightly deeper.  _Steph wasn't home before I went to bed,_  he reasoned with himself,  _it's only her coming home._ Within moments, his rational thinking had calmed his mind and he was lulling himself back off to sleep.

But then there came another clang, which shot Tim's eyes open. Drunk as Steph could get, she was always quiet. Always, never this loud. Tim kept himself silent as he sat up in bed, and realised, it  _really_  wasn't Steph.

Because Steph was in bed beside him. Like he had said, she was always quiet. And a heavy sleeper, too, when inebriated. 

Throwing his half of the cover off, Tim slipped out of bed and made his way across the bedroom, tiptoeing. Leaning against the wall in the hall was Steph's 'trusty' baseball bat; Tim grabbed it, knuckles clenching around the handle.

He could hear whoever it was moving around downstairs, in what seemed to be the kitchen. It also appeared that they had given up all pretences of attempting to be quiet - there was another clatter, followed by a sharp curse.

It was a guy. The intruder was male. Well, that certainly made things easier. He wouldn't hesitate to swing his bat at a guy.

All of the lights were off. Whoever it was was manoeuvring in the dark, and, consequently, so would Tim have to. Oh, well. It wasn't as if he didn't know the layout of his house. Not like he hadn't been living here for the past two years now.

Tim dodged the step that creaked. He didn't use the banister for balance. He didn't run, didn't jump the last step, just slunk into the darkness.

Leaning against the wall, he peered around into the kitchen. Through the beads blocking the door way - Steph's (ridiculous) idea, he swore - he could see the silhouette of the intruder.

Definitely male.

There was the sound of the kitchen draw opening, some metallic rustling - they were looking through the cutlery draw, heaven knows why -  _a knife, Tim, maybe they're after a butter knife -_  and then it slammed shut, and they were moving around once more.

Tim was close enough now to hear their footsteps.

Taking a deep breath, Tim decided the bat was - for now - perhaps a bit over the top, and so he placed it - silently, as quietly as humanly possible - against the wall, and rounded into the kitchen, startling the beads.

And basically that was the beginning of the end.

Tim was the first to throw a punch, hands on the intruder's shoulders which were quickly rebuffed and then he was dodging a punch himself, and well, there isn't much to it really.

A flurry of movements in the dark, a kick in the stomach that sent him stumbling back out into the hall way, through to the living room. It was still too dark to see who it was, but there was something.

_Something_  nagging at the back of his mind. Something, oh, something weird, strange. Odd.  _Familiar._

This was no ordinary burglar. This man was trained- all the movements were calculated, Tim's exact movements anticipated, expected, blocked (expertly) and Tim  _knew_  he should no, should not feel threatened, or perhaps should be infinitely more afraid than he was, because really, there were only  _three people_  on this entire  _earth_ that-

And then Tim was on his back, the wind knocked out of him due to his careless distraction, and there was one name on his lips, one beginning with a  _W-_

And then the intruder was chuckling. "Woah, easy there tiger." The name fell off Tim's lips and was replaced instantly with a different one.

" _Jason?!_ " The clouds shifted, and in through the window streamed the silver glow from the moon, and, damn right, it was Jason. And the fool was  _grinning._

"How you doin'?" He asked, still pinning Tim down, still with his hand gripped, albeit loosely, around Tim's throat. Tim exhaled, loud and hard, trying to calm himself.

Jason was no threat. Hell, if Jason  _was_ , Tim would be finished by now. There was no doubt about that.

"Jason," Tim repeats, momentarily stumped. Jason seems to get a kick out of Tim's confused state, because he lets out an amused huff,

"That's my name, don't wear- i-" The positions are reversed, and for once, Tim has the upper hand, only because Jason really wasn't expecting it.

Jason coughed a little, but then he's grinning again. Well, not really; this one was more of a smirk, truth be told.

"Looks like you still got it, ay' partner?" Tim rolled his eyes, and then relaxed his grip on Jason. Stood up. Refused to extend a hand to help Jason up.

"What are you doing here?" He asked instead, fighting the urge to cross his arms like a petulant child, staring Jason down. Jason raised an eyebrow, gesturing around the room.

"Well, I  _was_  looking for a beer- but then some whacko shoved me into his living room." He gave a little laugh, punched Tim in the shoulder, and then retreated into the kitchen. Sat down at the little, round wooden table with the two chairs- one that was rocky, one that was stable.

Jason sat in the stable one.

Tim had no choice but to follow suit, and right before he sat down, Jason spoke again. "Speaking of beer, fancy getting me one?"

Tim shouldn't have obeyed, but, well, he always had been a stickler for orders. He reached into the cabinet below the sink, rustled through the top draw for a bottle opener, and clunked the bottle on the table before Jason.

He didn't have one for himself.

"There's your beer," Tim said, sitting down opposite. Jason cracked the bottle open, took a sip. Didn't grimace. "Now, what the  _fuck_  are you doing here?"

Jason winced. Tim hadn't even snarled, despite how much he really wanted to.

"What," Jason said, mulling his answer around his head, "I can't just visit my baby bro?" Tim raised an eyebrow; Jason was barely even a full year older than him.

"You could have just rang." Tim bit out. He sounded almost as if he was sulking.  _Cute,_  Jason thought, scoffing aloud.

"Of course I could'a, Timmy. But would you have picked up?" He shook his head, smiling, albeit sarcastically. They both knew the answer to that.

"What are you  _doing_  here?" Tim stressed instead, because Jason was bullshitting and they both knew it. Jason wouldn't just 'visit'. He never had before. He had never even  _talked_  of visiting Dick after he left, and God knew Jason had been infinitely closer to him than he ever was with Tim.

Jason's grin faded a little, and he looked down at his bottle. "You know," He said, frowning a little, "I haven't spoken to Dick in six years." He pursed his lips, admiring the bottle in his hand. "Was the anniversary last month," He murmured, and Tim would be a liar if he said he didn't wince a little inside.

He had always liked Dick. Had always felt he didn't do enough to search for him after he left the life behind himself, believed it was better not knowing because, yeah, Dick was a part of that life and Tim didn't want anything to do with it.

But, still. Six years is a long time, and Tim couldn't believe he had forgotten.

"You haven't spoken to me in two." Was what he replied with, well aware of how self centred it sounded.

"And who's fault was that?" Jason asked, tipping the bottle back and taking a gulp. "Not mine," He muttered, "that's for sure."

The kitchen light flickered on.

**Author's Note:**

> so this was just to set up the scene, sort of, i guess, a little background!
> 
> The actual story will be set four years from the end of this. and here is a timeline, which is actually just for my reference because i have a horrible memory:
> 
> Dick - taken in at age 8, whilst Bruce was 23 - left at 18 when Bruce was 32.
> 
> Jason - taken in at age 12, when Bruce was 27 and Dick 13.
> 
> Tim - taken in at age 13, when Bruce was 29 and Dick was 15 and Jason was 14 - left at 18 when Bruce was 34.
> 
> Bruce - started career at just shy of 18 - took in Dick at 23 - took in Jason at 27 - took in Tim at 29 - lost Dick at 32 - lost Tim at 34.


End file.
